October
by thoughts.in.places
Summary: The fires have been burned and the rubble disposed of, but the tears still remain for Liesel and Alex Steiner. Until one fateful day in October, when love of a different kind comes to visit.


I

October.

There wasn't much to see, even with the world being set aflame by the heated colors of fall. There wasn't much to see, because there was no one around to see it.

Liesel knew that nothing would ever be the same again. In fact, that fact was continually roving its way around her mind, over and over, in and out. It touched every surface of her and its cold embrace was what she fell asleep to at night and lived with during the day.

Alex Steiner also felt the pangs of loss, but in a different way than Liesel. Where she was despondent, he was motivated. Setting the shop back up was only one of the many things he did to keep his mind busy and his hands moving. But she saw him. She saw him in the fashion he denied: late at night, shivering in the cold of defeat and loss. She heard the shaking of his back as the sobs took hold of him. She knew that there was nothing he could do to fight it.

They mourned for the same people, but they mourned in different ways.

Three years.

The days passed by, excruciatingly slowly, but also with swiftness and resolve. Each minute took so long, and yet, each day was so fast. The culmination of memories ended in the flash of a fire. The lasso sun was gone with the streak of an enemy's mission. There was no stopping the greater powers that would so easily dissolve the lesser.

First was the pain of love lost. Then was the pain of words lost. Liesel almost felt guilty for how much she missed the books. Her book. Max's books. The book thief's treasures. They were all gone, and nothing would restore the feeling of holding them and reading them and knowing that she was secure with them in her midst.

She thought of the readings in the basement, with the sirens going off above. She thought of how if she had only been able to read to them one last time, if they had all managed to cram themselves in the basement in the actual moment, if they had all been awoken by the soft cuckoo followed by the omnipresence of the air raid signal, then would she read. She would read until her throat shriveled and her lungs gave out. She would read until the tears coursed down her face. She would do anything to save them. To never lose the memory making.

The security was gone, though. And Alex would never know anything about it. There was no one who could comfort her now.

At night, the faces rolled through her head.

Papa.

Mama.

Rudy.

Max.

Rudy.

Rudy.

Lips.

Ash.

Sometimes she could still feel the residue under her fingers. It was grainy and thick. It was the days after the bombing, when she sat alone and filthy in the Mayor's house. It was the utter despair of knowing there is no one, no one who loves you left in the world. It wasn't really there, that residue. And yet, it was ever-present.

That residue.

Alex was sent to do the job Papa would have done had he survived. Process paperwork for the army. It was an arduous and trying job, especially for a man who has lost his whole family to the war that would stare up at him in an inky mess of paperwork day in and day out.

He and Liesel shared a house now, being the only people left in an isolated world. They were moved to a nearby town where the paperwork was being processed. The only two left, bereft of all love that they had known, it was up to them to be for each other what no one else could ever know.

One night, Alex Steiner came home from a particularly demanding day.

"Tell me a story, Liesel."

The power of the words overtook her. She recognized what Papa had always told her to do. The only comfort now was an escape, just as it had been in the shelter on Himmel Street.

"I will, Herr Steiner."

Her mouth opened, and the words painted the air.

"There was once a man who had known great love. He knew it from his family, but soon, he would know it no more. He was carried away, and he knew nothing for a long time but the starvation of a cold floor in a shed somewhere. His only friend had betrayed him, but then came around and helped him to survive.

"This friend would need further assistance, though. It was hard to keep a man such as this hidden in a shed for very long. In fact, it was hard to keep him hidden anywhere for very long. This man was a Jew. He was branded with the curse of his beliefs and none would cross his path willingly unless to slaughter him.

"This man would find his way to someone who could keep him safe. Someone whose life was owed to this man's father. It was a debt founded on music and kept alive by it. It was a debt that he would make good on, and one night, the stars would shine brightly as the Jew made his way to the door of this man. His basement would become safety, and his daughter would be to him a friend.

"They would paint together and laugh together and see through the hard times together. The Jew almost died, but the girl revived him with her gifts. He would repay her with something precious: a book, written completely and fully by himself. Stories of many different things. Many different times.

"Finally, the man would be forced to flee. He would be taken away by the growth of evil rooted in the hearts of powerful men. The spit on the door of the house was clean in comparison to this evil."

And with that, Alex knew.

They had harbored a Jew, and he was still out there somewhere.

He was, until Liesel continued.

"This Jew would return, though. He would be marched in and whipped for letting the girl touch his face. The girl would be whipped for touching it."

They cried, then. Liesel knew she shouldn't have said what she did. It was dangerous talk, still, and it was nothing but more heaviness to add to the weight of death.

But words, once said, cannot be undone.

The words felt welcome in her mouth. The drama she needed to survive, the food of living in a world of pain and feeding that pain with more pain. It tasted good, like something she craved but knew she could not have.

Alex did not seem shocked. The hollow look in his eyes that Liesel had become accustomed to seemed to break slightly.

"Oh, Hansi…" he muttered silently. "You would hide a Jew in your basement, you bastard."

No one had ever said the word bastard with greater affection.

Months passed.

Finally, a man took a shotgun and put it to his head. He sat quietly and calmly next to the dead corpse of his wife, the blood matting her black hair and creating a stain on the fine velour of the cushions on the couch. The red. The black. Had any of it been worth it? The insanity would take root if he didn't do it soon. It was strange, this calmness that washed over the room. Better to do it quickly than live to regret anything he had done, anything he had facilitated.

After all, he would go down in history, and wasn't that what everyone had always wanted of him?

Wasn't that what he wanted of himself?

The _Führer_ pulled the trigger.

II

Some say the country, no, the world, sighed in relief with that gunshot. But it's not true. The world doesn't know how to sigh. It only knows how to carry on.

Liesel, unfortunately, did not.

It was not the first time words failed her. She had known a time of this kind of loss before, but this time, the words had been stolen from her. Before, she had lived in the ignorance of passionless language. Now, she knew what she could have and this made it even harder to gain it back.

She imagined that little black book, her story, and she could see the flames licking the surface of it. She could hear it scream as it died. The scream perfectly matched hers in pitch and volume.

One day, Alex decided that he needed a change. See, he feared change at this time. You would think that someone who has experienced the ultimate change could somehow embrace it, but no. He needed constancy. He needed to go back and face things the way they were.

And the only way he could go back to the world before was by going back to the shop. It had been too long since he had been a salesman.

Liesel questioned this plan when she heard it. By going back to the world before, he was teaching himself to be strong, but he was also inviting the pain in. That would not work for her. She needed to avoid the pain, let the scars form, and never look at them again.

"Liesel," he said, his voice pleading. "I can't leave you behind."

"Please, Herr Steiner." She said, her voice equally pleading. "I will not be your burden. Just leave me here. I will manage. I will find a new life."

"No, no. I don't mean to say you are a burden. I mean to say that you are in desperate need of this. We both need it. Pretending like it didn't exist or pretending that by living in this city will dull the pain away doesn't work. You know it to be true. You've told me of your mother and your brother, and you survived that by not forgetting but adapting. We mustn't forget Liesel. It will creep in, and eat us alive."

His words swam in her head, trying to make their way through the foggy mist of her brain and make her understand that she could not move on like last time. That she had to take that skill and do something with it.

The sun streamed in through the windows, covering the many textures of the fabrics with its embrace. Liesel held a shirt between her thumb and forefinger and thought of Papa. The shirt was silk, and gorgeous. It was something she would have liked to see him wear, for Papa had never dressed up. In fact, the whole time she was at Himmel Street she had never seen anyone dress up. Clothing was usually the last thing on their minds.

Today, though, as the sun bathed her in light, she realized that her Papa would never wear a shirt like this. It wasn't necessary. He was a man who was far from materialistic, and her heart swelled as she thought of the many different ways he would have ruined the shirt if he had worn it.

Paint.

Tobacco.

Sweat.

More Paint.

She sat on the floor in the corner of the workroom for a while, daydreaming as she held the fabric. She was supposed to be mending it, but she just didn't. She simply stared out the window.

As her mind wandered, it suddenly became vulnerable. She didn't stop herself this time, though. She simply let the thoughts enter her.

Papa was the first, with the shirt. Then Mama and the soup spoons she used to wield as she would administer one of her beatings. Liesel felt as though she was constantly getting in trouble, now that she looked at her life on Himmel Street in retrospect. Her teacher, her Mama, even her Papa…she thought of the beating she had received on the steps of the town hall after the bonfire. She thought of the whipping. She thought of Max.

Her chin started to quiver a little at that. Max was the one thing she couldn't decide how to feel about. She missed him, and an ache started in her chest and made her eyes prickle with tears every time she thought about it. But she also feared for him. Should she assume he was dead? Should she accept that he was probably never coming back?

She was eighteen now. Old enough to have to face the reality that he was most likely dead.

And yet.

Deep within herself, she knew she couldn't take it. That everything had been taken from her already was enough. Max was a flame in her heart, alive and well. He was the one thing she couldn't lose because she didn't have a reason to believe he was lost.

Suddenly, she knew she had to return to her work. The task at hand. Some of Alex's traits were starting to wear off on her. It was time to face the reality and focus on what was here and now.

And present.

The morning wore on in the usual fashion. A few customers came in, a mix of regular patrons and strangers coming to have simple jobs done, like trimming or lengthening. These customers were easy to please and paid little. Some just came in to visit Alex, new friends who knew his past and wanted to help him.

Liesel remained in her corner, shutting off her mind and listening to the in and out of the shop. The door would open with a welcome jingle of the bell, and footsteps would follow. They would greet Alex and then she would tune them out.

Around 11:30, Liesel was given a new task to bring the hem up on a young girl's dress. It had obviously been worn many times, and as she lay it on the big table in the back, she ran her fingers over the coarse material as she tried to think of the many little girls who had worn it.

She had just retrieved a needle and some pins when she heard the bell again. It jingled and was soon followed by the same sound of footsteps, except these footsteps were different. They were quiet, light, and hesitant. They were familiar, but she dare not let her mind wander again. She refocused and took hold of the dress clumsily.

Alex greeted the customer cordially.

"How can I help you today, sir?"

"I'm here to inquire something of you, if you would be so kind."

Liesel stopped breathing.

That voice.

"Anything. How may I oblige you?"

"I wondered if a Liesel Meminger lived here."

"I-you—" Alex swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Are you Max?"

He whispered it.

The words seemed loud and imposing, even at the low volume.

"I am."

Liesel could not hear the exchange, but she certainly heard the response of Alex.

"Liesel! Liesel, come quickly!"

She dropped the garment, and her legs were not fast enough. She came to the doorway behind the counter and her whole body seemed to lose motion for a second. Finally, the moment had come. Finally, here he stood, before her.

Hair like feathers. Clean shaven face. And swampy, _lovely_, eyes.

"Hi, Liesel."

"Hi, Max."

She said the word as if it were the only one worthy to ever be spoken. She staggered across the room, her mind stopping and her body moving on its own accord. Max took two long strides to her and they were together.

And they were together.

It all came out. She sobbed into his chest and he cried into her hair. She was vaguely aware of Alex closing the curtains, locking the door, and quietly leaving as she and Max fell to the ground.

Finally, they didn't need to remain standing.

There was no resolve anymore. There was no strength. It was all relief and joy and utter despair and Liesel was afraid that if she ever let go of him then he would slip away again and be gone.

They sat together for a long time, holding onto each other, and after a few minutes, they stopped crying and just let their arms tell the story.

Liesel finally pulled away when she realized that she needed to say something. She needed to tell him.

"Max, Papa and Mama…they're gone."

"I know." he held her face in his hands, as she had done for him all those years ago in the parade.

"Max, you don't know how much I've missed you."

These were not the words of a word shaker. They were the words of a girl who is broken. Who has lost everything twice over and can do nothing but hold on to whatever she has left.

"I'm here now." He whispered, and she put her hands up to his on her face. "And I'm never leaving again."

The words bathed her like the sunlight had. She thought of Papa's homecoming, when he came back from working for the LSE and how they embraced in the kitchen and listened to his stories for hours. Max was home.

Together, they _were _home.

This was not a time for words, it was a time for hands and eyes and tears. And after their reunion was finished, she realized that Alex would want to meet the man whom Hans had saved.


End file.
